Hatred
by lifelessMage
Summary: It bubbled and boiled, roaring like a flaming beast waiting to strike. Like blue flames, it licked away at his heart, charring the edges black. But to be hated would be to remembered, and wouldn't being hated be better then being not known at all? PruCan


It bubbled and boiled, roaring like a flaming beast waiting to strike. Like blue flames, it licked away at his heart, charring the edges black. But he tamed it, starving it of attention; it was funny like that. The only way to not bend down, to not submit, to it was to give it the same thing that started it all; not pay it any attention at all. He had been forgotten for the longest of times, ever since Papa had been forced to hand him over to the care of Arthur, since he was a young country, now even Papa forgot him at times.

And it was all _his_ fault.

Moving with Alfred had brought up a subconscious action in everyone he met. _Comparison_. People compared the two of them almost addictively; everyone did it. _Everyone._ And then they would forget about him in awe of the things that made up Alfred; all the bright and shiny things.

They would forget him for that stupid, hyper, _egotistical_ **jerk**.

Matthew knew it was wrong to think like this, selfish and mean, but he couldn't help it. Alfred had done nothing to deserve such thoughts towards him and yet he had brought them along. Well, not just him but everyone else too. They had all brought it along, and at times he just wanted to _crack_. To yell and cry and scream and shout. To _whine_ about the injustice of it all, to _attack_ those who ignored and forgot about him, to _beat the living daylights_ out of those who had ignored him and to _force_ what he felt onto everyone else.

But that would be wrong and cruel and there was no way he would ever be able to do that. He was too gentle, too kind, and that's just the way he was. There was nothing he could to about that; he didn't want to be hated.

But to be hated would be to remembered, and wouldn't being hated be better then being not known at all?

Nobody remembered him, nobody noticed him. Ever. Ever, ever,** ever**!

Except for _him_.

_He_ had noticed him since the first day they had been introduced. _He_ had always met his eyes and greeted him; that person who reminded him so much of Alfred and yet was _so much better._

Gilbert.

The first time they had met -officially- was during one of the meetings that Matthew had held during a party afterwards. Alfred had decided it would be a smart idea to host a 'Yay-the-meeting-for-this-year-is-over' party and steal the food from Matthew's fridge. Said fridge just happened to contain brownies. Brownies that Matthew had made for himself and no one else, and shouldn't have been eaten by anyone else. Mainly because it would come under consumption of illegal substances.

But Alfred was an idiot and would therefore unknowingly feed the countries of the world -or, at least, the ones that had attended the party- drugs; and sometimes even knowingly (what did they think alcohol was?). And it was while everyone was off their rockers that Gilbert had stumbled into Matthew and mistaken him for Alfred, just like everyone else who noticed him. Like everyone else, he looked confused when told that they had the wrong person. Like everyone else, when given the name he looked confused for a bit before slowly nodding with recognition before wondering off.

But then he remembered.

Unlike every other person who had ever asked for a correction, Gilbert had remembered his name and his initial existence. Some people had even asked for it more then once; his own _brother_ had to be reminded every other day. Not Gilbert, no, _Gilbert_ -of all people- remembered who he was, _where_ he was and _never again_ mistook him for Alfred.

Thus the reason why he couldn't loose it, couldn't let that beast loose. Why he had to contain the rumbling creature with the gleaming red eyes. Because even if letting it loose made people know him, hate him, it would also cause him to loose all that cared for him. Even if it was only **one** person who knew him how he was, liked him for that. _They didn't even have to love him_, they just had to know who they were.

They were why Canada couldn't and _wouldn't_ let that rage, that anger, that _hatred_ control him and who he was.


End file.
